


Afterlife

by charlesleeray



Category: The Exorcist (1973), The Exorcist - William Peter Blatty
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Demons, Fluff and Angst, Heaven, Hell, Hospitals, M/M, Memories, Not Beta Read Whoopsies, Possession, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesleeray/pseuds/charlesleeray
Summary: Joe and Damien meet again, after fifteen years of loneliness.
Relationships: Joseph Dyer/Damien Karras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Legion / The Exorcist III! Damn these men have my heart

“What happened the night before?”  
Joe was sitting in a old wicker chair in Kinderman’s kitchen, staring at the ashtray on the table. It had caught his eye, as there wasn’t any ash in it— it was clean, like he had just bought it.  
“Father Dyer?”  
Brought down to Earth by Mary Kinderman’s sudden relocation to the chair vertical to him, he cocked his head.  
“What happened the night before Father Karras died?”  
Recollecting the night that Damien had died was a challenge in itself— it always led to the memories of him alive, of the night before his death, when Joe had told him that everything would be okay.   
“What’s the worse that thing is gonna do to you, Dims?” He had said, taking Damien’s hand and turning it into a fist. The room smelt of tobacco and polished wood— it was a smell Joe had always associated with him, even before they knew this room existed. “You’re a boxer. Who do you think’s gonna be possessing her, George Freeman?”  
“She’s a child, Joe.”  
“She wouldn’t have the strength to knock you down, would she?”  
Damien had taken Joe’s cigarette out of his hand, giving him a unmotivated smile.  
“I guess.”   
It had struck Joe right there that that cigarette had been his last, as he didn’t recall Damien smoking in the morning.   
To answer Mary’s question, he simply said, “I don’t remember. Shock’s one hell of a drug, Mrs. Kinderman.”

There was the occasional sound of the steel wheels of a trolley, the click of a woman’s black stilettos hurrying into a room, and the faint beeping of somebody’s heart monitor echoing around the area. Unlike the noisy day-to-day nurses, who clattered around and had voices that he was sure God Himself could hear, the night was soft, calm and relaxing— it was no wonder almost all the patients slept through the day.   
Now that Joe had time to himself, he thought. It was hard not to think about death while you were in a hospital bed, and all of the magazines beside him had been read to their fullest— Kinderman hadn’t been back to fetch him a copy of the news, which he was sure to complain about in the morning. But upon further inspection of the bag that had held one half of a burger, Joe had noticed multiple lemon drops thrown into the bag. There were about ten, and by the time he started to think, there were only six left and his mouth was now stained with the faint taste of lemons.   
The plush penguin that Kinderman had got him stood tall on the windowsill, his beady eyes gazing over the room.  
Joe had named him Dims. In a way, while he held the plush in his hand, it looked like his old friend Damien at an angle, and he had immediately laughed and chosen his nickname as the bird’s name. Joe took it from the window and placed it in his lap so that the beak was facing him.  
“You’re looking a bit sad,” he whispered. Though he felt a bit childish talking to a stuffed animal, it was the only thing able to keep him company.   
“So, Dims, anything to say?” He tapped the penguin’s beak in an attempt to make it speak. In a much lower voice, he mimicked the penguin. “It’s a bit stuffy in here, Joe.”   
Really, it was childish, making the penguin talk to him, but nobody could hear— and who would care? He threw Dims onto the blanket, popping another lemon drop into his mouth.  
It had been fifteen years since Damien had died— exactly, fifteen years and four days— and it was getting harder each day to stand the fact that he would be without him. When he was alive, they were inseparable, attached to the hip, and when he died, Kinderman had tried to take on the role of best friend. Joe didn’t have the guts to tell him he was nothing like Damien, even if he still got along and saw him as a friend. There was just no replacing him, his smile, his eyes— even if Damien had suddenly revealed he had a identical twin, Joe would’ve been able to pick out which one was Damien. He had a flair to him that Joe was able to pinpoint easily, and while he couldn’t exactly guess what it was, he knew it was there.  
As another trolley came rushing down the hallway, it made sporadic stops, creaks echoing at odd intervals. Joe curiously tilted his head up, slightly moving left to try and see what was happening outside.   
Nothing. There was no trolley, nor any sign of life. Joe had never seen any movement near his door, and there were no other corridors to disappear down.   
Then the creaking trolley rolled past his door, a mirror mounted on three stacked copies of what looked like the Holy Bible.   
“Weird,” Joe breathed out, scooting closer to the door.   
A priest appeared behind him in the mirror.   
The shock factor had already passed before said priest could say— or even do anything. Joe responded to the sudden appearance with familiarity.  
“Damien?”  
The familiar upturned smile, the unruly hair— everything about this man was Damien, and as Joe turned to face him, the man seemed as surprised as him.  
“Damien,” Joe repeated, returning to his original spot on the bed. Damien cocked his head, scanning the surrounding area before it clicked.   
“Oh, Christ, Joe.”  
He had dropped something and clambered into Joe’s arms. Immediately, he returned the hug, his heart swelling. This was Damien, alive and well, after fifteen years of death.   
He could still smell the tobacco on him.   
Realization only dawned on him as he looked down at his feet and saw what he had dropped— medical shears, big and probably strong enough to... decapitate someone.  
That’s what that murderer was doing, wasn’t he? Kinderman had mentioned something about decapitation, and his stomached dropped like a rock.   
“Joe, could you help me?”  
Damien seemed to have picked up on his train of thought. “Before he comes back—“  
“Who?”  
“The man inside me, Joe.” Damien’s hand rested on his own chest, directly above his heart. “He’s killing people. He’s making me kill people.”  
A vessel. That’s what Damien was now— a body for this man to execute what he could not do in life. 

For a strange moment, it reminded Joe of when Damien had come to him in a hurry, telling him through slurred words that he seemed to have lost his faith. Joe had lifted his chin up, told him that he’d been feeling that way too, and reassured him.   
“It happens to the best of us, Dims. You know what Father Morning told me when I went to him? To pray. And I did, and I waited, and He answered.”  
“What, did He call you up?”  
“Yes. Do you want His number, Damien?”   
There was the smell of smoke again. Cheap alcohol and a bit of wine. A muffled radio playing Bob Dylan, then the eccentric voice of the radio host.   
“I’ll pass, thank you.” They both should’ve been in bed by then, but Joe had gone on with a long story of slightly losing his faith, then had forced Damien to lay down and sleep. “Sleep, that’s what you need. You look like an old dog, Dims.”  
“Oh, you’re very nice.”   
“I’ll be even nicer if you go to sleep.”

Joe was immediately snapped out of his memory by a sharp beep from his own heart monitor.   
“What were you thinking about?”  
“Us,” he responded. “That time I called you an old dog. You still look like one, you know.”  
“Yeah. I know. Could you help me?”  
He looked down at the ground, at the shears glinting in the fluorescent hospital lights.  
“I don’t know how.”  
“You have to get me out. I’ll kill you if I don’t.”  
Joe’s breath hitched in his throat.  
“You’re going to kill me?”  
Like Damien had said the most unimportant words ever, he nodded. “I can feel him fighting to get in, to take those—“ he pointed to the shears on the floor—“and decapitate you. Inject you with some sort of syringe and make you watch your body decay.”  
Joe barely heard the last words. Now that the mention of death had issued a gloom over the area, he wasn’t feeling anything— not even a strong opposition to Damien- or whoever was in him- killing him.  
“Bill’ll fix this,” he muttered.  
“What?”  
“Bill will help you. I can’t.”  
Kinderman was stronger, both physically and mentally. Joe couldn’t think of anything he could do for Damien right now except let him go through with his plan.  
“Joe, I—“  
“Dims, whenever this is over, we’ll be together again, you know?”  
“Do you really believe in a Heaven, Father Dyer?”  
There was a lump in his throat as Damien asked.  
“I believe that there will be somewhere for us after death. Good or bad. And I’ll see you soon, when you can finally be free.”  
“You’re not asking me to—“  
Joe put his hand up to cup Damien’s cheek.   
“If you kill me, so be it. I’ve lived a good life already, and I think it’s about time we see each other again.”  
“I don’t want to.”  
“Then let him do it.”  
Damien grabbed both of Joe’s shoulders, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”  
“It’s not you doing it,” Joe responded. “Will it make you feel better if I ask him?”  
“I don’t want you dead at all, you bastard.”  
His face lit up the moment Damien cursed. “You’re still there? Good. Damien, I want you to know that after all this, we will see each other again.”  
“What if I go to Hell?”  
“Fat chance.”  
Damien finally looked up and into Joe’s eyes, which were brimming with tears.   
“You know, I’m just happy I got to see you again before I died, Dims.”  
While he hesitated to say something, his hand started to twitch. Joe took notice of that and tried not to panic— he knew Damien was fighting something inside himself, and it hurt him to see it.  
“I love you, Joseph.”  
“Yeah. I know you do, Dims. And I love you too. Would you like a lemon drop?”  
Joe immediately removed his hand and fished in the burger bag for a lemon drop. He unwrapped it and dropped it in Damien’s hand, who popped it in his mouth a moment later.  
“I like lemon drops, you know. They’ve always made me think of you.”  
“Oh, that’s depressing. I’d rather you think of my charming wit.”  
“That’s hardly what I think about when it comes to you, Joey.” He bit down on the lemon drop. Hard.

Suddenly, Damien wasn’t there with them anymore. 

Another memory.  
They were both on the subway, Joe accompanying Damien to his mother’s apartment. It had been a late night, and it only felt right he made sure Damien got home okay. They started to talk after everybody had left their car, and then, without hesitation, Damien had flopped his head onto his shoulder.  
“You tired?” Joe asked, his heart suddenly spiking.  
“Mhm.”  
“Look at you, finally getting some sleep.”  
No answer. He must have dozed off.   
Joe glanced left and right— the subway car was completely abandoned except for them.   
He moved the book he was reading to his lap and softly took Damien’s hand in his own, resting his own head against his. The sway of the subway had drifted them off to sleep.

If only he hadn’t died so young, Joe thought. If only he didn’t have to spend those fifteen years alone, coupled with however long it took Damien to get to Heaven.  
At least, Joe hoped Damien was getting into Heaven. But it didn’t really matter, anyway— if he didn’t, Joe would always find a way to meet him again, even if not in person. 

If he didn’t get to see Damien again, he could argue that this was his Hell— and Joe was a damn good arguer.


End file.
